"I've waited long enough;
I've stood enough. I been like an ol' woman. Jus' let me an' Blenham
finish this."
They had, none of them, so much as noted Steve Packard's entrance.
Now, however, he forced them to take stock of him.
"Bill Royce," he said sharply, "keep your shirt on. Barbee, you do the
same. Blenham, you talk with me."
"You?" jeered Blenham. "You? Who are you?"
"I'm the man on the job right now," answered Packard crisply. "And
from now on, I'm running the Ranch Number Ten, if you want to know. If
you want to know anything else, why then you don't happen to be foreman
any longer. You're fired! As for foreman under me--my old pardner,
Bill Royce, blind or not blind, has his old job back."
Bill Royce grew rigid.
"You ain't--you ain't Stevie come back?" he whispered. "You ain't
Stevie!"
With three strides Packard reached him, finding Bill Royce's hand with
his.
"Right you are, Bill Royce," he cried warmly as at last his and Royce's
hands locked hard.
"I'm fired, you say!" Blenham was storming, his eyes wide. "Fired?
Who says so, I want to know?"
"I say so," returned Packard shortly.
"You?" shouted Blenham. "If you mean ol' man Packard has sent you to
take my place just because-- It's a lie; I don't believe it."
"This outfit doesn't happen to belong to old man Packard--yet," said
Steve coolly. "Does it, Royce?"
"Not by a jugful!" answered the blind man joyously.
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